Four years old. Still my baby.

August 5, 2012 |

My baby is turning four tomorrow and I am in denial. Four is not a baby. Four is not even a toddler. Four is a child. A child! Where did my baby go and why did time run away so fast? Today, she had a Fairy Princess High Tea for eight little girls (and two highly unimpressed little boys) and as I watched them all playing together, I was reminded that she really is a little person all of her own. She has opinions (lots of them), ideas and a really spunky little personality. I have the massive, incredible task of helping her to continue just as she is and guide her in the right direction so that she can grow up to be the beautiful young woman she has the enormous potential to become.

The little fairy princesses were served naked cupcakes with sides of colourful icing and sprinkles. They iced, decorated and ate their fairy cupcakes with gusto. After sipping on pink champagne (pink cordial, same thing right?), they chased bubbles, danced and then sat down to tea. Who doesn’t like a good tea party?

My Baby G, you are just four, but you have learned a lot more than I have in the last four years:

You have learned to speak a whole language fluently. And colourfully. Yesterday, while playing doctor with me, you looked at the thermometer and proclaimed seriously and with great authority, “Patient, I’m sorry to tell you, but it’s twenty past six.”

You have learned to crawl, walk, run, ride a bike and dance and sing. You do all these things with 100% effort and full energy.

You have learned to hold a pen and even write some letters. You take this seriously and I treasure your ‘letters’ filled with love.

You have learned to wrap your daddy right round your little finger. Your wish is his command.

You have learned to crawl into the hearts of just about everyone you come into contact with and bury yourself in. Even people who have only met you online love you intensely. That’s some power!

You have learnt the art of eyelash fluttering and, in fact, you have achieved master status in this particular skill.

You have learnt how to make us laugh. You go out of your way to get a giggle from your siblings. You are a ray of sunshine.

You have learnt the value of loud, guffawing laughter. You seek it actively and relentlessly. Our home echoes with your chipmunk giggles and the subsequent giggles of your siblings.

You have learnt that boring isn’t an option.

You have learned that there is nothing more joyous than PINK. As much as possible. Layers are essential.

You have learnt that loss is intensely painful, but cuddling through the pain makes it better.

You’ve learnt that you can feel love even when it’s not close. You talk all the time about the love you feel from your grandparents overseas and your Bumpa in Heaven.

More amazing than what you’ve learned, my Princess, is what you have taught:

You have taught us that our capacity to love is endless. You will always stop and make time for a cuddle and it had better be a full body, two handed one.

You have taught us to always be prepared for a kamikaze-cuddle. Unexpected. Totally. We have received many flying knees to the ribs, as you launch yourself into our arms. You are delicious.

You have taught your siblings that they can fight with each other all they like but they must love you.

You have taught us that compassion is innate and you have oodles of it. If one of us is hurt, you’ll always come over, frowning, asking if we are okay. If I’m sick, you’re there like a shot with your doctor’s trolley, ready to administer to me.

You have taught us that when in doubt, wiggle and smile. A good wiggle is never to be underestimated.

You have taught us that you can never wear enough accessories. More is more.

You have taught us that if you’re gonna laugh, laugh loud and laugh until you can’t breathe. Same goes for crying.

You have taught us to be grateful every day for the miracle that is you, our little one.

My darling Baby G, every night before you go to sleep, we talk about what you’re grateful for. I am always astounded that such a little girl has such deep thoughts. This year, you’ve expressed gratitude for:

“Daddy working so hard so I can have lovely things”

“My toys because some kids don’t have toys. Can we give my teddies to the children in hospital?”

“My sister for teaching me to write an ‘a'”

“My dinner that was not full of yucky sauce.”

“My Bumpa cuddling my heart from Heaven.”

“My Aunty for talking to me on the computer.”

Before you go to sleep every night, you open your Fairy Wishes Box and close your eyes and you wish for your dreams. With eyes squeezed shut, you say – word for word, every night – “I wish for dreams of fairies, princesses, love hearts, castles, ballerinas and rainbows.” And as you list each item, your little chubby fingers ‘take’ the wishes from your head and gently place them into the box. After you’ve done this, you quickly close the lid, close your eyes and go to sleep, trusting completely that these dreams will come true.

As you grow, your dreams will change. You’ll outgrow your Fairy Wishes Box. You’ll lose the chubbiness in your hands. I hope that you never lose the absolute faith you have now that your dreams will come true. This is my wish for you, on your fourth birthday.

Baby G, I wish you a year of all the fairies, princesses, ballerinas, castles, love hearts and rainbows you could possibly imagine. I wish you a lifetime of dreaming big, aiming high and believing in yourself as purely and decisively as you do now.

I love you all the way to Fairyland. Plus eleventeen.

It is perfectly acceptable to be dressed as a ballerina or a fairy at all times. It is imperative that you strut convincingly to pull this look off. Flutter eyelashes repeatedly. It will get you lollies.

Disappear into your imagination as often as possible. Joy lives there.

Don’t let anyone tell you you can’t. Because inside every can’t is a CAN.

Hold Mummy’s hand a lot. Not because you need it, but because she does.

Live loud. Don’t shy away from something because you’re scared. Give everything a go and do it with joy in your heart.

I can’t say I love you more than any other mother loves her child. But I can say with certainty that no other mother loves their child more than I love you.

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Comments

Absolutely beautiful. I’m crying here, feeling how well you have captured the love that we feel for our children, every day. What a gift you have given your daughter; she will always have these words to read!
Happy Grace’s Birthday to you!

Oh Michelle, what a wonderful ability you have to capture thoughts & feelings & put them into words. Not just any words, but deep, meaningful, heartfelt words that express so much love & adoration to your amazing baby G, Miss M & Little Man. They are equally blessed to have you as their mum. Thank you for sharing such a touching post. Happy birthday to you gorgeous baby G, or should I say big girl! Have a super fun day & listen to your mum, she has some really great advice 😉

My babyest girl is almost four too, and this has brought tears to my eyes.They are such big girls now and along with ALL the intense nostalgia for the early baby days, is all this joyous expectation of all we can still learn about them. Gracie is a treaure, Happy Birthday!

My munchkin turned 4 back in late April. She was born to brighten my world after losing my own mom just one week before. Who would have thought a daughter could teach you so much just about yourself. Caitlyn has filled our lives with a joy that is truly indescribable. Just like your sweet BabyG, she has mastered the art of wrapping daddy around her finger and batting her sweet long eye lashes, along with a “please daddy” to get exactly what she wants. She loves to the depths of her being and never meets a stranger. She is my beautiful princess who stole my heart the day she was born.

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Welcome to They Call Me Mummy! My hope is that by sharing my less-than-perfect parenting moments, struggles with identity as someone other than The Mother and the often laugh-out-loud chaos that my Adult ADHD brings to my life, They Call Me Mummy can be a place where other imperfect parents can come to exhale and say, "me too."